The Music left Behind
by MsGeez
Summary: We all have ghosts that we leave behind, and Raven visits hers. A small room of white, and the music of dark memories and what could have beens. If only Raven could've had what most of us have, then maybe she wouldn't be so far behind. She's never really had a family until the Teen Titans. (Don't own the TT's; might be AU-ish.)


Covered in dust, white tarps covering most of the furniture, cobwebs, spiderwebs, mothballs... that faint musty smell like this place hadn't been used in years. Still, the girl with dark hair and dark eyes couldn't help but be pulled towards it-as if it were calling out to her, an old friend she hadn't seen in years.

Like a ghost, the girl walked towards it, gliding across the floor, her boot-clad feet leaving dark prints in the dust on the floor, her cloak dragging behind it erasing everything she had just stepped across-a dark trail in a room full of white. The girl had only eyes for the object, seeing it, remembering it as if it were just yesterday and not years ago. The object familiarly outlined. She knew this shape.

Hands were tugging at the tarp that hid it, letting the white fall off and to the ground, revealing the object that brought back so many memories. Quiet tears slid down her face unbidden, small, silent sobs shaking her shoulders. Her eyes found the name carved there, at the beginning, the one she had lost so long ago.

Angela Roth.

Moving almost hypnotically, Raven slid into the seat of the piano, letting her hands touch and feel and remember. The sensation of the smooth, dusty old piano was something she had never forgotten. And this one... this piano, in particular... this one was a promise. A promise that was never kept, and now, a promise that never can be.

A promise of love.

A promise of family.

A promise of a future.

Her mother had thought she had found love in Trigon. In his promises to her, in his kindness and charm and gentleness. He cared for her, protected her, gave her the happiness that she had always dreamed of-that all women and girls and children do. He became her everything. To show his love, an ebony piano-with her name inscribed at the very front. Angela almost couldn't be happier. She allowed her bubble of love to be expanded for the one thing that could only make this dream better for them.

A child.

Or more specifically...

A son.

The one that Trigon had always wanted.

Together they planned a future for the growing bulge in Angela's stomach. Years of learning to speak, walk, run, baseball. The color blue around the perfect baby boy coming home. Smiles and sunshine and love and laughter. They would be the perfect family. They would always be together.

But Trigon was so enthusiastic in his love for the growing child, for their child-the one they had always wanted. Roses and poems and sweet whispers given at the beginning and end of each day. Hopeful glances and brilliantly white smiles exchanged. They would be perfect. He would be perfect. Their son.

Annual checkups were given for Angela. Each week Trigon would drag her to their doctor to check on the growing child. To see the progress. Always healthy, always beautiful. As they'd wait they'd think of the names for their soon to be son. Everything was perfect, everything was as it should be.

Except there was a doubt. A small one, nagging at the corners of Angela's mind. What if...?

She brought her thoughts to her loving husband, and he just smiled, taking her hand, assuring her. Still...

Laughing, the next time he brought her to their doctor, he asked to know.

And that was where the dream ended.

They were going to have a baby girl instead. A child he did not want. But it was too late, the child would have to stay. And for the first time, Trigon allowed his self to be revealed for what it was. A monster.

Blood lined the white walls, Angela's skin marred and burning, Trigon watching on cruelly. He did not want a baby girl.

As Trigon left the world of the living to the realm where demons lay, Angela escaped what no longer held any love or happiness and ran. The red river of blood running right along with her.

Strangers found her and took pity on this woman, heart crushed, alone, crying, bleeding, as near dead as could possibly be. To a stranger land she was brought and cared for, given a new name and a new life. No longer was she Angela, no longer did the music she left behind give her any promises. Arella. The messenger. The lover of a demon.

Azarath, her strange new world, gave her a new name, and gave her changes. Hair so dark it became near purple, and eyes that held the same effect.

And her daughter, when she was born, was the same. But this was the daughter that took away her everything. She was the one that Trigon did not want. She was the one that made him leave. She was the one that made things changed. If there were any, then she was the monster-her daughter.

No longer was this the perfect family, as Raven (as the child was named) grew up with the strangers-monks, and Arella dreamed every night about the perfect son she should've had with the one that would never have left her otherwise, and a demon plotting against the world.

Raven sat here now, knowing the story, sitting at this old ebony piano thinking of what could've been. Of what might've happened. Of her father, and mother and how they never really were as their name implied. She never had either, really. And now she'll never have the chance to. Her father had destroyed Azarath, her world, while she was off being a rebel teenager, gallivanting in a leotard and cloak trying to be a hero. Her mother... the one she never really had... gone.

Her father?

Gone.

And by Raven's own hands.

The same hands that now lightly touched the keys and played the music she learned long, long ago. The same hands that covered in dark magic every time she fought a criminal. The same hands that were meant to destroy the world, the same hands that saved it.

Maybe what Raven felt now was nothing short of wistful thinking. Surely she couldn't miss something she's never had, had never loved or been loved by. But then why was she feeling...

So empty, so lost?

Raven lost herself in the music that she played, thinking about the one time her mother smiled at her in pride. The one time she had ever seen her mother show her any love or appreciation. It was when Raven had played the piano, just once, for the monks and for Azar, but most importantly for her mother.

Her friend's, her family, they've each had someone to love them, to raise them, to give them guidance.

Raven couldn't help but feel left out.

Though the monks taught her her heritage, and reading and writing and meditating, they never really raised her or gave her guidance. Raven raised herself. She learned what it meant to love and be loved and how to say the things you can't say or don't mean to. Raven learned how to protect herself and, more importantly, the things around her. Raven taught herself how to have hope.

And her friend's showed her the rest of the way, everything there was left to learn and see and feel, even the things she couldn't. She learned.

And now, here she was, exactly a year after she found out about Azarath, after she... killed... her father, Trigon, in the home that was full of dreams and promises and love. She had found this house, empty and broken and white.

But this, this house?

It was not her home.

Raven let her fingers trail across the last few chords of the song before she let the sound fall silent. And in the silence, Raven listened. Wiping her wet eyes, she listened to the ghosts of laughter and happiness and music.

And when Raven left, the ghosts carried on their merry dreams, never realizing the fates that were in store. Never realizing their child had paid them a visit. Because in their deaths, they were reunited-as sick and strange and lovely as it was-and in this home that was never home, it was like they had never left.

And the piano could still play its music.


End file.
